Asphyxiation
by RhodiumRose
Summary: Harry didn't know what to expect when he joined up with Voldemort in the final battle, but he hadn't expected this. After a short but lethal war, the Light side still hurting after the Boy-Who-Lived's betrayal, they finally overpower the Dark and sentence the two to death. For the first time, there will be no survival. LV/HP, Character Death, Oneshot.


_:parseltongue:_

* * *

A slight breeze ruffled Harry's hair and he shivered, the wind easily bypassing his loose and ratty clothes to chill his skin. Goosebumps spread down his arms, hair standing on end to try and trap the heat in, but ultimately in vain. Harry felt as if his very bones were encased in ice, an icy slurry sliding through his veins and freezing his heart.

He really should be used to the cold by now.

The lift opened, the metal railings retreating with a creak and he was pushed forwards, heavy chains dragging on the floor behind him. Harry refused to stumble, steadying himself on his bare feet, toes curling when they were met by a frigid stone floor. Another shove later and he took a second step forward, blinking rapidly as the darkness receded and a scalding light poked and prodded at his eyes without obtrusion.

Harry felt his eyes water; everything was so bright, so harsh and white and unyielding. Harry scrunched his eyes up, hoping that no one would mistake his reaction for tears. He would not let them see him cry – he was not going to be humiliated any further. They'd already done enough.

That didn't mean, however, that he didn't feel naked, vulnerable, his knees weakening as whatever strength he had gathered was crumbling beneath him, slipping between his fingers like dry sand. It had been easy enough to ignore the wizarding world, hiding away in his cell with only his lover and the darkness for company, apart from the occasional auror that would pass by. Sometimes they shouted at him, taunted him, but most of the time they just stared.

Harry wouldn't admit it to his companion, but he hated it when the aurors stared. It was intrusive, uncomfortable, as if they were mentally picking him apart and inspecting every piece with unrelenting scrutiny. That said, they could also be ignored. He'd just turn on his side and face the other wall, trying to forget the wizard glaring daggers at his back. It would be a harder challenge to ignore the wizards now, with him now paraded in front of them like this.

The last shadows uncurled around his figure, and he was plunged into the public's eye. Harry swallowed down a lurch of sickness as hundreds of pairs of eyes turned his way, accusing, jeering. He could almost sense the pressure build in the air, his limbs feeling heavy and slow, as is he was trying to walk through water.

As they moved further into the crowd, the people closing the gap behind them and aurors clearing their way, something clawed around his heart. Something that could only be panic started buzzing at the back of his skull, and Harry hurriedly gulped down huge lungfuls of air, the flesh beneath his skin tingling as though starved of oxygen. His vision started to blur, muted and muffled sounds barely reaching his ears. He was vaguely aware of the person by his side, of the skeletal hand digging into his shoulder, but whatever question he had about to voice died in his throat as his lips remained stubbornly pressed together, unwilling to let a gasp of air go free, unwilling to drown.

 _:Harry.:_

The hiss of parseltongue slithered into his ear and he tensed, the sibilant sounds popping the bubble occluding his sight and hearing. The owner of the voice watched as Harry once again took in his surroundings; the wizards and witches filling the hall, staring at them, some still wearing their black robes although the mourning period had long since passed. As Harry came to his senses, he realised that he couldn't find it in him to blame them. He would have been wearing those same black robes had he been anyone else, had he been in their position.

But he wasn't, and so Harry had to listen as the desperate shouts and hurls of abuse snapped at his ears, holding in a flinch and supressing the urge to draw his robes around his head and block them all out. It sharply contrasted one hour ago, when he had been lying down in his cell, counting the droplets of water falling from the cold stone ceiling, wanting nothing more than to escape, brief longings for a world he could no longer call his home.

Harry cast an anxious eye at the man walking next to him, the scales glittering on his serpentine head and his hollowed cheeks more pronounced than before, no longer any shadows to hide his gaunt frame. Sharp red eyes stared back at him, emotionless, and Harry felt his eyes burn as a familiar stinging sensation erupted across his corneas.

Voldemort frowned, thin lips pulled in distaste and Harry hastened to calm his uneasy expression, schooling his face to remain unaffected against the scornful crowd, a small flame of satisfaction sparking when Voldemort nodded in approval. The prickling soon faded, and Harry turned his head away from the man, his hands no longer trembling.

With his nerves steeled, he dared to look upon his guard for the first time, the gnarled hand extended from his shoulder to be cloaked under a floating black material, ripped and mottled, twisted grey flesh visible beneath the tears and a fearsome hollowed head staring impassively ahead. However, the creature did not possess any eyes in those empty sockets, so Harry doubted the veracity of his observation.

A glance to his right told him that Voldemort too was flanked by another Dementor, a similar clawed hand tightened around the Dark Lord's shoulder. Voldemort showed no signs that he was affected by the creature, and Harry was proud to say that he too was hiding his internal revulsion well, the cold numbness throbbing underneath the creature's touch was nothing compared to their fortnight-long stay in the bowels if the Ministry, in the frigid dungeon where they had been held.

While he had been down there, Harry had frequently imagined the shock on the public's face if they ever found out that two mass murderers were imprisoned below them, several hundred feet below the halls on which they walked. Sometimes the mere thought of their horrified fear would be enough to keep him entertained for hours.

Harry could no longer blame Voldemort for ruling through fear and not loyalty, having relished in the former with unhesitant alacrity.

Another glance at the furious faces making up the crowd and Harry grimaced. This was eerily similar to the old days, but this time significantly less people were asking for his autograph. Harry absently wondered if Colin Creevey would still be as obsessed with him now as he was back then, had he survived. Probably not – after all Harry had killed his brother a few months back.

He noticed that a lot of the shouts seemed to be directed at him, rather than the wizard to his right. He supposed the sting of a fairly recent betrayal incited more hostility than a man that had been hated for decades. Harry wasn't surprised that their resentment had lingered after so many months, for he still felt a the bitterness of betrayal when he thought of Dumbledore, the man he had trusted, the man who had ultimately sought his death.

A brief break in the crowd revealed their destination some 100 metres ahead, the writhing mass of people parting for a millisecond to reveal the wooden contraption, the platform where their lives would…

Harry stopped, unable to think upon the next words, unable to complete the sentence. And if he was struggling to accept their circumstances, he couldn't imagine how Tom must be faring.

Fingers brushed against the other man's palm, seeking comfort. It was only because Harry was practically pressed against the Dark Lord's shoulder that he noticed the man stiffening, and Harry bit back his disappointment. Even after all this time, the other wizard still had trouble accepting the gentler side to their relationship, so used as he was to dealing in all manner of extremes.

With the mention of extremes in their relationship, Harry struggled to hide the blush that rose to his cheeks, wholly inappropriate for their current situation. Snapshots of their more private moments leaked into his thoughts, feverous skin glistening with sweat in the candlelight, a hot breath tickling his ear…

Harry jerked his head, dispelling those images. It would be no use to dwell on them now. He reluctantly let his hand fall to rest back by his side, the metal chains hanging from his wrists and scraping against the floor, the fetters binding his ankles doing much the same. He wondered why Tom was so reluctant to hold his hand now, considering Harry had spent the entire past two weeks enveloped by the Dark Lord's embrace, both of them clinging onto the other as is afraid that they would slip away the second the second they no longer touched.

 _:Tom? Say something?:_ Harry hissed, ignoring the rumble that rippled through the crowd the second the parseltongue passed his lips.

 _:What do you want me to say, Harry? That everything will be alright? That I have a secret plan? I have nothing Harry, nothing. We are going to die here. It's time you accepted that.:_

Harry smiled uncertainly, the irony of Tom's words not lost on him. Imagine, the Dark Lord telling him that he needed to accept his death! It would almost be humorous if the air didn't feel so heavy.

 _:No… I know that. I just don't want our last moments to be so… lonely. That seems too cruel. Too painful. It seems wrong to die in silence.:_

They were 80 metres out now, the crowd slowly swelling in size and the shouts slamming against his ears with more force than before, their Dementor escorts pressing them on.

Voldemort glanced down at his younger lover, his face still expressionless and his mouth set in a thin line.

 _:It is wrong for us to die at all.:_

Harry nodded slowly, glancing down at his manacled hands, the iron chains clinking and rubbing into the raw skin of his wrists.

 _:Do you blame me for this?:_ Harry asked, not able to bring himself to look at Voldemort. He had to know – had to ask if Voldemort believed this to all be his fault. Early in their relationship, Voldemort had spent countless nights lamenting that Harry was making him weaker, more vulnerable. Harry had always disputed the claims, citing love as a strength, but now he wasn't so sure. Without Harry, Voldemort might not be shackled in chains and marching towards his death, with no horcruxes to bring him back this time.

Voldemort was silent, his face stony and Harry felt a painful ache in his chest. _What if….what if…._

 _:Stop your internal despair, Harry, it's annoying:_ Voldemort hissed, and Harry straightened himself up, trying to present an image of calmness even though his heart was pounding in his chest so loudly that even the shouting wizards and witches must surely be able to hear it.

 _:Sorry.:_

A beat of silence.

 _:No you're not.:_

Harry nodded, running a tongue over his chapped lips and wasn't surprised when he felt the cracked skin. There hadn't exactly been any chapstick in his cell.

 _:I thought we'd have more time:_ he admitted, looking away from Voldemort and into the crowd, the faces blurring as the mob throbbed and pushed forwards against the aurors to snatch at them, barely being held back.

 _:I know what we did… was wrong, but I think some part of me didn't foresee such an ending. The consequences. However…I still don't think I would change a thing.:_

Voldemort sneered, casting red eyes disdainfully over the crowd. _:Don't tell me you're still getting hung up on morals, Harry, when the people you sympathise with are about to put us to death.:_

Harry shook his head fiercely, slipping a hand into Voldemort's. The other man frowned but said nothing, and Harry tightened his grip, the familiar cold of his lover far more pleasant than the icy burn of the dementor at his shoulder. They were now 60 metres away.

 _:I'll miss you_.: Harry said quietly, neverminding that no one but Voldemort would be able to understand him, whatever volume he spoke in.

 _:You'll be dead.:_ Voldemort reminded him bluntly, fingers reluctantly curling around Harry's. _:We'll both be dead.:_

 _:I know. But… I'll miss you all the same.:_

 _:You are being annoyingly sentimental, Harry. I barely tolerate the hand-holding as it is:_ Voldemort hissed, shaking their hands to prove a point, their thick iron chains clanking.

 _:It doesn't matter anymore, Tom.:_

 _:No:_ Voldemort whispered, _:I don't suppose it does.:_

Harry looked down at his bare feet, which were shuffling across the Ministry floor. It was as he noticed the dirt stains and the tattered trouser hems that he realised that he must look a state, as two weeks in a prison cell would tend to do to a person. A quick look at Voldemort told him that the other wizard, as always, was immaculate. He was probably wearing charmed robes, the vain git.

 _:Could I…:_ Harry hesitated, blushing slightly though he didn't know what for. _:Could I… could I have one last kiss?:_

Voldemort stared incredulously at him, for the first time breaking out of his solemn expression. Harry supposed that he was being a little foolish, considering that they were quite literally marching to their deaths.

 _:You want to? In front of all your friends?:_ The Dark Lord sneered the last part, his words evoking a similar look of distaste on Harry's face.

Harry refused to answer, but instead stopped in the middle of the hall, causing the Dementors to falter, before standing on his tip-toes and pressing a firm kiss against Voldemort's mouth, his arms trapped uselessly by his sides, itching to grasp at the man.

Despite his words, Voldemort wasted no time in returning the kiss, Harry's lips parting when a tongue brushed against his lower lip. For a second he forgot where he was, the people screaming themselves hoarse faded into the background, and all Harry could focus on was the warm and surprisingly soft lips of the other man.

Voldemort managed to grasp Harry's robes, his chains just allowing that much freedom of movement, and Harry was pulled closer, his chest flush against Voldemort's. Harry imagined he could feel the Dark Lord's heart beating close to his own, full of life and vigour, a pulsating organ that refused to yield to the desires of any mortal, marching to its own pace.

Then Harry was flung backwards, torn away from his lover as the Dementors separated them, their bony fingers puncturing the skin around his neck with a grip hard enough to bruise. He kicked out his legs, fighting the creatures briefly before he was unceremoniously dropped onto the floor.

He looked up, catching Voldemort's tight-lipped expression between the black locks hanging over his eyes, and he unsteadily rose back to his feet, shaking his messy hair out of his face. He considered shrugging off the Dementor when it laid its unnatural hand back on his shoulder, its grip impossibly firmer than the last time, but he didn't. There wouldn't be any point – not with the aurors stationed at all the exits.

Harry's lips were still tingling from the kiss.

They walked forwards, the crowd swarming around them, buzzing and murmuring like an inflamed hornet's nest. It appeared that their recent display of affection had only served to further rile them up, unleashing a fresh new wave of anger that could be directed at the pair. Harry couldn't help but grin, prompting a confused look from Voldemort. This was almost like Romeo and Juliet, two lovers scorned by a divided world…

They were similar in more ways than one, Harry thought grimly, face falling, as he spied the platform in the distance. 40 metres…

 _"_ _How could you do this, Harry! They were your friends!"_

One voice cut above the others, a voice Harry would recognise anywhere, and for an instant he was transported back to his second year, when Ron received a bright red envelope…

"How could you…" Molly Weasley sobbed, her voice cracking and her periwinkle handkerchief tightly grasped in her clenched hand. Her bright orange hair stood out in the sea of faces, and a closer inspection told Harry that Arthur was by her side, a steadying arm around her shoulders, his face flushed red with anger.

Harry turned his face away. He didn't want to see them, he didn't want to hear them –

 _:Something wrong, my dear?:_

 _:No:_ Harry replied shortly, staring obstinately ahead. _:Just some people I used to know.:_

Voldemort laughed, the familiar high-pitched sound silencing the people standing nearby, brief terror reaching their hearts. _:Ah, yes. Pity you hadn't killed them then, Harry. Didn't have the stomach for it?:_

 _:No:_ Harry whispered, _:I killed their son. I killed their daughter-in-law.:_

Voldemort's eyes gleamed with understanding, a smirk stretching across concave cheeks. _:The redheaded boy and mudblood girl? I think I remember them… you were rather cruel with them, weren't you?:_

 _:Not on purpose:_ Harry snapped, stumbling slightly as the Dementors pushed him ahead. He couldn't see the crowd, the people trying to catch a glimpse of the infamous pair. Bushy brown hair fanned out on the floor in front of him, blank eyes staring upwards, a light splatter of blood across her cheeks. Next to her Ron was lying in a pool of blood, an identical slash across his chest, which was slowly leaking a viscous red liquid onto the tiles.

They were supposed to die quickly. Harry hadn't known that the wounds he inflicted had taken hours to finish them off, having run out the room the second the spells fled his wand. After that, he ignored his unease and learnt the killing curse.

 _:We're almost there.:_

And so they were. The platform was twenty metres ahead now, an ugly eyesore rising out of the throng of wizards and witches. Harry leaned closer to Voldemort.

 _:You sound far too calm. Aren't you scared? Worried?:_

Voldemort hummed, flashing Harry a grin that everyone else would mistake for a snarl. _:In truth, I am petrified, Harry. This has always been my greatest fear, ever since I heard that first siren echo over London when I was but a mere boy, young and naïve.:_

Voldemort paused, eyes cooling with steeled certainty as he glanced at Kingsley Shacklebolt and the other aurors standing on the platform, watching their approach. _:But they have already taken one victory from me, and I refuse to give them another.:_

Harry nodded, not able to reply to that. Maybe he shouldn't – those had been fine last words for Voldemort. Harry supposed he would have to think of something clever before they tied the noose around his neck.

Something flashed in the corner of his eye, and his gaze was drawn to a black obelisk standing behind the platform, roughly twenty feet high, inscribed with name upon name. Harry supposed it must be a memorial for those who had died, but that wasn't what had initially caught his attention. No, at the top of the structure, encased by glass, was a plaque which showed off two thin objects.

Two wands, yew and holly.

Harry grabbed at Voldemort's arm, tearing the skin around his wrists as his chains protested, too shocked to speak. Voldemort turned to him, puzzled, and Harry simply jabbed his head towards the large stone. Voldemort frowned, scanning the piece until his eyes widened and his lips curled upwards.

The words tumbled out. _:Could we get to them? I can hold off the Dementors, if you ran through the crowd – I'm sure they'd make way for you – and maybe if the aurors –:_

 _:Don't, Harry:_ Voldemort said sharply, eyes still fixated on his own yew wand, which was mocking him from afar. _:We'd never make it.:_

 _:We have to try!:_

But they had reached the platform, with the aurors now relieving the Dementors of their duty and escorting the pair the rest of the way. Harry struggled against their grip, trying to catch Voldemort's attention.

 _:Tom, please!:_

 _:Harry, you need to calm down!:_ Voldemort hissed, startling the nervous auror by his side. _:This is the end.:_

 _:But… but…:_ Harry stopped, awkwardly climbing onto the wooden block, following his lover's lead. This couldn't be the end. It _couldn't._

The faces stretched out vastly in front of him, the crowd completely focused on them. They were silent now, as if waiting for something to happen. Harry almost missed their shouts.

 _:Don't move or try anything, Harry. Let us die in peace:_

Harry nodded, trying to stand upright and proud, and a glance to his right showed that Voldemort was doing the same. A rope slipped around his neck, the thick knotted twine slowly tightening as the auror at his back adjusted the noose. Thin fibres coming off the rope scratched at his skin, almost ticklish, and Harry swallowed as the noose finally came to a stop, uncomfortably digging into his throat, making it hard to breathe.

The auror stepped back, and Harry wondered what would happen next. A speech from the Minister? An official sentencing from the head of the DMLE?

 _:I love you.:_

It was so quiet that Harry almost missed it, unable to believe his ears. Had Voldemort just…?

Harry fell when the block disappeared, the rope rushed up his neck to meet the base of his skull and he barely had time to flail, before something snapped and he knew no more.

* * *

 **A/N Yeah… so I haven't written for this pairing before. Well, I've written for TR/HP but that's not the same thing, no matter what Harry calls Voldemort in this story. I'm sorry that the writing is rubbish, there are probably hundreds of errors, but I'm not exactly in the best mindset right now and I felt compelled to write this story. Mostly because I was feeling awful post-surgery and wanted my characters to feel awful as well.**

 **Anyway, hope you like it(?)**

 **I'm on tumblr at** rhodium-rose **:)**


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